


Auld Lang Syne

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Severus’ developing relationship in the months after the Battle of Hogwarts, told through Minerva’s eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auld Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accioslash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioslash/gifts).



> Written for the Secret Snarry 2013 fest on LJ/DW/IJ for this prompt (by accioslash) "The first Christmas after the Battle of Hogwarts."

Snow, she thought, was the great equalizer.

It buried the snug, cozy cottages in Hogsmeade Village, coated the ice on the Great Lake with wind-blow swirls of frosting, and erased the battle scars on the centuries-old castle, converting the rubble-strewn grounds into a glimmering tableau of muted shapes and shadows. 

Fully a foot had fallen, the storm letting up just as the sun sank beyond the horizon on Christmas Eve. Hagrid had been out at daybreak, leading a team of thestrals up and down the lane from castle gate to castle doors, clearing a path for the holiday visitors.

Unbelievably, there would be another Christmas at Hogwarts.

And today there would be guests in the castle, voices making merry, Christmas crackers, a goose for dinner, a toast for auld lang syne.

By June, it had been obvious that the castle would not be ready for students by September. The damage was too extensive, the Ministry resources too strained to perform a miracle. Minerva – old, tired, but uninjured and resolute – had worked for weeks with the other heads of house to devise a condensed curriculum packed into extra-long school days. The Hogwarts Express would pull into Hogsmeade Station on January 3rd, the castle would be open and ready to receive the students, the remaining repair work would continue, and the grounds and courtyards would be cleared and restored when the snow melted in the spring.

But today was Christmas, and Minerva, hostess by default, greeted each guest as he or she climbed the castle stairs and walked through the doors into the restored Entry Hall. The remnants of the Order of the Phoenix. The faculty, new and old, who would return here to teach. A scattering of friends at the Ministry. Harry Potter was one of the last to arrive. If Minerva was surprised by his tardiness, or that he arrived alone, she did not say. She kept her opinions about Harry Potter to herself; Merlin knows the rest of the Wizarding World had plenty to say without her two knuts worth.

He looked a hundred times better than he had when he’d left Hogwarts after the funerals. His eyes looked a dozen years younger. His smile was genuine, lighting his face, softening his eyes. He held his glass up with the others in a toast to Albus, respectfully bowed his head in a moment of silence for all who’d been lost. He was cheerful, as happy as any of them to see another Christmas. He stayed in the Great Hall long enough after dinner, then said his goodbyes with words and hugs and kisses and handshakes, and slipped from the Hall.

“Off to see Teddy, I suppose,” said Arthur, his eyes straying to Ginny and Neville. He gave a little smile, and Minerva let it go, even though she knew Harry wouldn’t be seeing his godson that night and that he couldn’t be too terribly upset that Ginny had moved on.

She knew where he was, of course. Still in the castle – he’d been haunting its halls frequently since he left in May, slipping in after the restoration workers were gone, always stopping to exchange a quiet word with her should they pass in the corridor. In the early weeks, he sat beside Severus in the infirmary, reading to him, bringing him peace offerings, and bearing his irrational demands and angry diatribes. He continued to visit as Severus gained strength, and Minerva wondered at the changing relationship. Harry would often seem irritated or upset, no matter if she met him coming or going. Sometimes, he’d carry in cumbersome bundles, muttering about the ridiculous requests of a certain Headmaster. She’d see Severus sometimes after Harry left, sitting in his old chair in the Faculty lounge, drawn up close to the fire, staring into the flames, whatever Harry had fetched for him that day on the table beside him – a vial of blood from a hatchling dragon, the petals of the rarest of magical flowers, a box of fine tea from Singapore. 

She’s asked Severus what this was about. Scolded him gently. Was he testing the boy? Using him? 

And Severus had opened his hands, showing her the shimmering Chimera scales Harry had brought that day. “I am giving him as much as he is giving me, Minerva,” Severus had answered. “He comes willingly.”

And that…was all.

Perhaps…perhaps he was mentoring Harry. Tutoring him for the N.E.W.T.s he would sit in May. 

She had the chance to ask Harry, some weeks later, as he left the castle late one evening. He was hunched forward, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and he was so distracted he almost ran into her on the stairway.

She didn’t know what to think about what she learned – that Severus told Harry about his mother, and about Albus, and Harry answered Severus’ questions about his year hunting Horcruxes.

Severus wanted it in Harry’s words – the break-in at the Ministry, Godric’s Hollow, the Forest of Dean, Gringott’s.

The Final Battle. The confrontation with Voldemort.

“You don’t have to do this, Harry,” she’d said. “He’s asking too much of you.”

Harry had shaken his head, leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“He’s not making me come here,” he’d said. “I come willingly.”

Harry began taking tea with Severus, brought him wizarding newspapers from Europe and Asia and the Americas, and as Severus gained strength, walked the corridors slowly beside him. Always when the castle was silent, when the work crews were gone, when the summer sun was fading and only the ghosts and house-elves haunted the corridors. Like shadows they moved, skirting the edges, hugging the walls, growing stronger as the daylight died. On the evenings Harry slipped into the castle with boxes of Indian take-away, Minerva could follow her nose to the faculty lounge where they sat in two overstuffed chairs, a rickety tea table between them, 

She sometimes marveled that people left Severus alone, and that Harry didn’t. Sometime in June, Harry had informed the Ministry that he was finished debriefing them – that they could stop calling him in because he had nothing more to say. Yet here he was, relating it all over again for Severus. As for Severus, he seemed content enough to recover in the castle, spending his days within the sanctuary of the broken walls. Weathering the course of the venom - _it will get worse before it gets better_ \- waiting it out.

Planning the future he’d never expected to have.

A future, she was beginning to believe, that just might include Harry Potter.

She imagined Severus living in a cottage on the edge of the forest, remote enough to discourage visitors but not too remote for Harry, who’d want to see his friends, perhaps hold down a job at the Ministry or in Diagon Alley or maybe even playing Quidditch professionally. But Harry would have his fill of people, of the niceties of social interaction, of the business of life in the public eye. He’d Floo into the cottage after work, or on the weekend, and they’d find peace in each other’s company.

Peace…and something more.

At first, when Severus began to respond to Harry, Minerva thought he was doing damage control – keeping the boy close. After all, he’d bared heart, soul and mind in the memories he’d given Harry. Those memories were living inside Harry now, too, and to protect them, to protect himself, he had to keep careful watch on the boy.

After a time, when summer had faded into autumn, she started wondering if Severus was taking Harry under his wing. Against all odds, they’d both survived to see another day. And Harry was Lily’s boy, wasn’t he? He didn’t plan to come back to Hogwarts, but he’d need his N.E.W.T.s and could certainly use a mentor of Severus’ caliber. She overheard them once, discussing spell crafting, and another time found them together in the old Defense classroom. Severus was seated in the chair behind the teacher’s desk, book open before him, and Harry stood behind him, studying the book over his shoulder, reaching down to turn the page. She’d only glanced in the room, but was left with the feeling that she’d witnessed something intimate.

Then she’d learned the truth from Harry – the give and take, information for information. 

And she wondered how it was measured. How many details about Lily Potter did Harry earn for recounting the escape from Gringotts?

And then – then came the quiet and cold Sunday evening in mid-November when Harry caught up with her in the corridor, had gripped her arm. He was distraught. Terrified. She had never seen him look so undone – not on the day of the Battle, when he had returned to Hogwarts. Not when he stood facing Voldemort himself, 

“Professor McGonagall! Where’s Severus?” he had blurted out. “I can’t…I can’t find him. Anywhere.” 

And though she took Harry by the arms and assured him that Severus was in the castle somewhere, that she had seen him only an hour or two before, the fear didn’t leave his face. At a loss, she summoned a house elf and tasked him with the job of finding Headmaster Snape. He popped away, then was back two minutes later, and Harry, blushing, mumbled “I forgot to look in the library.”

And Minerva watched him hurry away, wondering at Harry’s fear.

And when - _when_ \- had Harry started calling him Severus?

And now it was Christmas. 

She’d thought that Severus might make an appearance at the small celebration, but was neither surprised nor disappointed that he had not. He was recovering slowly, taking his time to find a place for himself in this new and unexpected present, and if he’d allowed himself anything at all, any change, any step in a new direction, it was Harry.

She was not surprised to see them together as she made her way to her quarters. They were standing together at the end of the main corridor, against the great window through which, not so very long ago, Headmaster Snape had fled. It had been temporarily repaired with a clear pane of glass. Their backs to her, they stood side by side, looking out at the snow-covered, moonlit grounds. 

Harry was nearly as tall as Severus now. He was a million miles from the Gryffindor boy she had known, a thousand even from the man who had defeated Voldemort. Feeling like a voyeur on an intimate scene, she began to move on, glancing back just in time to see Harry lean forward against the glass, his hands resting on the window pane, to see Severus lean in, too, both of them looking at something outside, perhaps a family of deer at the edge of the forest, searching for acorns beneath the snow. She stopped, transfixed, as Severus’ left hand came to rest atop Harry’s right. 

They stood there, framed in the moonlight, hands together between them against the glass, looking outward.

“Oh, sod it all.”

Harry turned to face Severus, pulling his hand away from the window, then turning slightly, reaching out with the same hand, hesitantly, touching Severus’ cheek.

“I’ve never done this, you realize,” he murmured, but Severus didn’t give him time to reconsider. He pressed his mouth to Harry’s, and in that moment, feeling very much the voyeur she was, Minerva was not reminded of the difference in their ages, or that Harry had once been Severus’ student, or that Severus had loved Harry’s mother. They were just two people, who had a past, who were looking toward the future, who were sharing their first kiss.

That was _not_ a tear in her eye.

“Happy Christmas, Severus. Happy Christmas, Harry,” she whispered as she continued the trek back to her own quarters. “For auld lang syne, lads.”

_For auld lang syne._

_And there’s a hand my trusty friend !_  
And give me a hand o’ thine !  
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,  
for auld lang syne. 


End file.
